


What Are We?

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 5 Times Fic, 5 times fic with a twist!! ooh ahh, Attempt at Humor, Crack tbh, I stayed up all night to write this nonsense, M/M, Rated for swearing, spacing is ridiculous bc mostly dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: Alternative title: 5 Times People Thought Luis Enrique and Pep Guardiola Were Together (Romantically, Of Course) and They Had No Idea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this nonsense before the inevitable influx of fics came in and I stayed up all night - like, regret! Hope you enjoy, though. Sorry if the situations are random (crack fic ahoy) and it is literally 7 am. I'll be back to do minor edits - unbeta'd, as always.
> 
> I live for Pep and Lucho lowkey being awful to each other/pushing limits, I think that's their dynamic, tbh. There's not many people they can push at, much less that push back.

**_1._ **

****

_“Good evening!”_ Someone sing-songs behind Pep, their loud laughter drowning out the clamor of their shoes as they jogged to catch up to him.

 

“Luis Enrique,” Pep drawls, glancing over at a grinning Lucho when he fell in step beside him. “You’re awfully chipper tonight.” He tries to level Lucho with a skeptical look, but the effect is ruined by his own smile.

 

“I know!” Lucho gestures towards the empty parking lot ahead of them with a nod “I’m early, too.”

 

“Better that than late,” Pep offers with a shrug, laughing at Lucho’s offended glare. “I’m not saying that you’d miss a game on purpose, Lucho. I’m just surprised you’re here so early.”

 

Lucho glares at Pep with an exaggerated pout for a few moments longer before regaining his cheerful demeanor, except, this time, his grin is mischievous. “It’s never too early to make Van Gaal’s life a living hell.”

 

Pep rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Still not over that fight you had yesterday?” It’s not an accusation. Well, he doesn’t mean it to be, but it doesn’t stop the captain-like edge from creeping into his tone. He is worried about order, after all.

 

This time it’s Lucho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Disagreement, Pep,” he corrects, Pep’s semantic faux-pas taking precedent over answering the question, much to Pep’s annoyance.

 

 _“Luis En-_ ”

 

“Kill ‘em with kindness, yeah?” Lucho interjects with a flippant wave of his hand. “I’m not going to forgive, nor forget, but at least I can prove him wrong.”

 

They reached the gate at this point making Pep bite his tongue and smile while they made their way through the usual security measures. Still, Pep made sure Lucho caught his glare before he greeted the guards, letting him know that he’d caught on to his clever tactic to stall the conversation – Lucho knew that Pep cared too much about club appearances to let even the security guards know of any “disagreements” between club members and used that to his advantage.

 

Lucho waits for Pep to get through security with a smirk and crossed arms – an altogether too-haughty expression for Pep’s liking – inviting Pep to challenge him.

 

Their footsteps echo through the empty corridor while they made their way to the dressing room, but Pep’s quick to pick up their conversation once they’re out of hearing range. “Look,” Pep's tone is flat, leaving no room for argument. “I understand that you haven’t forgiven him, _yet_ ,” he ends his statement with a pointed look, to which Lucho replies by quirking his brow. “But you _will_ forgive him.” It’s a thinly-veiled captain’s order that, coming from Pep, doesn’t seem as nearly out of place outside of the pitch as one would expect.

 

Even so, this is one of the few times Lucho can contest his captain’s order and a mocking “Yes, sir,” is Lucho’s only response. Anything that would have followed after is drowned out by a booming _“Guardiola! Enrique!”_ that jostles them out of their impromptu staring contest.

 

“Did you two get here together?” Van Gaal’s walking towards them, and Lucho’s semi-early arrival seems to be making the commotion that he wanted, though not in the manner he had hoped for. Van Gaal’s puzzled look quickly turns into a wary one and he’s talking before either of them can reply. “Listen, it might rain.” The lines between his brows don’t go away, if anything, they seem to get deeper every time his gaze flickers between to the two players. “Hurry up and get changed – and don’t cause any trouble. That’s the last thing we need today.”

 

Pep’s own response of “Yes, sir," isn’t mocking, but it doesn’t stop from Van Gaal flashing him a vaguely disappointed look before he makes his way past the pair. Pep thinks he hears Van Gaal mutter “Not again” before saying something else in Dutch, but he’s not too sure. Ironically, Lucho’s stunned into silence.

 

“What? Was this not part of your plan?”

 

“Getting surprised by Van Gaal and being told to run out in the rain? Oh, yeah. There’s a note in my glove compartment where I have it all written down.”

 

 _“Hey_ - _”_

 

At least Lucho has the awareness to duck his head in remorse, flashing Pep a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

 

Pep grins fondly and, with a shake of his head, places his hand at the nape of Lucho’s neck. A sarcastic Luis Enrique was better than a quiet one. “It’s fine, he scared the shit out of me, too.”

 

 

**_1.25_**

 

****

It did begin to rain during the game, but that didn’t stop Lucho from earning a brace in what Pep was glad to call an easily controlled game. There were still things they could improve (read: set piece defending), but every game had things that could be tweaked, some more than others.

 

Van Gaal, thankfully, had lost the pinched expression he had been giving Pep all evening when it came time for everyone’s customary congratulatory hug. Pep had been praising Lucho for his first spectacular strike during the game so when Van Gaal turned to give the next player a hug, his wary expression came back when he turned and faced Lucho. Small victories, Pep supposed.

 

“Drive safe you two,” Van Gaal gave Lucho a distracted pat on his shoulder in place of a goodbye before he made himself scarce.

 

“What the—“

 

“—fuck was that?” Iván chirps, giving the pair quizzical looks.

 

“Nothing, de La Peña,” Lucho sneers, playing up his annoyance before limply tossing his jersey at Iván, hitting him in the face.

 

“Van Gaal saw us come in together, that all,” Pep amends, shooting Lucho a quick glare before facing Iván with a breezy smile.

 

“You guys came in together?” Iván echoes with a leer.

 

“Yeah?” This time Lucho responds, sounding just as confused as Iván was a few moments before. “What about it?”

 

“Noth-Nothing,” Iván stammers, flashing Pep a guilty look – much to his confusion – before facing Lucho. “You never come in as early as Pep, that’s all. Nothing’s wrong with that,” Iván continues, expression melting into one of hurt. “I just didn’t know, that’s all.”

 

“I’ll let you know next time, then—?” Lucho responds as an apology, though it sounds more like a question, in the end.

 

Iván nods in approval anyways and leaves them with that silent gesture before he heads off to the shower, leaving Pep and Lucho to feel the aftermath of the awkward exchange. At least the rest of their teammates had the foresight to turn away from the pair, except Pep wasn’t sure if he preferred their own judging stares to the stifling silence that overtook him and Lucho.

 

“Well… that was… _something_.”

 

“Yeah,” Pep agrees. “Are you regretting your plan to make Van Gaal’s life miserable, yet?”

 

“No, I still have a few days on that one.”

 

Pep, loose-limbed and exhausted from their game, could only weakly shove Lucho’s shoulder in disgust. “Keep me out of it. I’ve already done my job in warning you.”

 

“Wha- you were never even part of it!”

 

 

**_2._ **

****

 

“Waiting on a hot date?”

 

Startled, Luis Enrique places his water down on the bar with a loud sigh. “Pep,” Luis spins around in his stool to face his new companion that had sat down beside him, shaking his head at Pep’s toothy grin. “Has anyone told you that you should wear a bell? Y’know,” Luis leans forwards to trace an imaginary collar around Pep’s neck, tapping his index fingers against the sides of Pep’s neck to complete the semicircle. “Right here?”

 

“I’m sorry?” Pep teases with an exaggerated tilt of his head. “Right where, you said?”

 

“God, you’re as annoying as a cat, too.” Luis scoffs, reaching over to take another drink from his glass, suddenly wishing that it was something stronger.

 

“Cats are majestic creatures.” Pep hums with a serious expression, though it quickly fades when Luis peers at him over the glass with an unimpressed glare.

 

“Of course you would be a cat person,” Luis accuses, though his accusation lacks any true heat behind it.

 

Pep decides to play along anyways. He frowns while deliberately tracing the water ring Luis’ glass left on the granite, peeking up at Luis through his eyelashes. “Does this mean we’re not compatible, then?”

 

“Thank god,” Luis chuckles, laughing harder when Pep shoves at his shoulder. “ _Hey.”_ Luis tuts, setting his glass down, “You’re gonna make me spill this very expensive, free tap water.”

 

“God, we’re definitely not compatible now,” Pep mutters while gesturing to the bartender who had just noticed his presence at the bar to give Luis a refill and bring him a water of his own. “Should’ve known you’re a cheapskate.”

 

“I’m sorry I don’t want to get drunk before my date gets here,” Luis rolls his eyes, glaring at Pep when he gives him a surprised look. “Yes, I actually do have a date, but no—” Luis grabs Pep’s arm when he starts to move. He tightens his grip before continuing. “Don’t leave me. She’s late.”

 

Pep opens his mouth to protest, but snaps it shut when Luis pointedly raises his eyebrows. Pep doesn’t quite hide the flicker of pity that crosses his face, but Luis appreciates the effort anyways. “You’re meeting a girl. At a bar.”

 

At that, Luis retracts his hand. “Wow, is that judgement I hear from you, Pep? You’re judging me?”

 

“I’ve been judging you,” Pep flashes Luis a wry grin, chuckling at Luis’ mock affronted gasp.

 

“And in my time of need,” Luis shakes his head in an effort to hide his own smile, but Pep sees it anyways, his own grin widening.

 

“I’m a horrible person, right?”

 

“The worst.”

 

 _“Yes, you are!”_ A shrill yell makes the pair jump and Luis is happy that his glass was empty, given the fact that he knocked it over in his fright. A short woman with a black bob was standing next to Pep, and, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Luis realizes that he doesn’t know how long she had been standing there.

 

Luis flushes, mortified, _“Magdalena-”_

 

“Save it!” She raises her hand, silencing Luis, “I was late because of traffic, but I see that you move on fast. See you never, _Louis Ramírez_.” She hisses his name – or what’s supposed to be his name – like a curse and leaves with a huff. Luis turns to see Pep staring at the empty spot that she left in her wake before he looks back at Luis.

 

He doesn’t look guilty. “It would have never worked out between you two, anyways, Louis,” Pep says matter-of-factually.

 

“We were gonna get dinner afterwards.” Luis groans, burying his head in his hands, “I’m starving.” And, then, softer, “I’m so embarrassed.”

 

Luis feels Pep pat his back tentatively in a sympathetic gesture, well, one pat, all fingertips, before he starts rubbing Luis' back in soothing circles, “Do you want me to go out to dinner with you?” _Now_ , Pep’s feeling guilty and all Luis wants to do is laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

 

“I don’t need your pity.” The words sound muffled from between his hands, but he knows Pep can see him nod.

 

“Good,” Pep agrees softly, though it sounds like he’s talking to himself, still confused. Luis can’t really tell, still waiting for the last threads of embarrassment to fade away, but it’s reassuring anyways. “Good.”

 

 

**_2.05_ **

 

****

“Dude,” A new voice speaks up, though it comes from somewhere in front of him, thus Luis assumes it’s the bartender. “She was your date? _Man_ , I thought it was _him_!”

 

Somehow, Pep manages to sound serious while sounding absolutely ridiculous at the same time. “You, sir, are not getting a tip.”

 

“Oh my god, Pep. _Shut up_.” 

 

 

**_3._ **

 

 

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

 

“I’m not gonna give away any of our secrets, Luis Enrique.” Pep calls out, not looking up from his clipboard, squinting at the glare the white paper gave in the sun. Maybe he should bring a yellow legal pad next time, instead.

 

“Funny,” Lucho deadpans, shoving his hands in his pockets while he walks towards Pep, nodding towards the man that was standing next to him. “I was talking to him.”

 

Pep sighs, looking up at Luis, “What did Xavi do to you?”

 

“Yeah, what did I do to you?” Xavi pipes up, though his confusion belies his curiosity, studying Lucho while he made his way towards them.

 

“You’re my scapegoat, Xavi.” Lucho offers, which, in the end, isn’t very helpful at all.

 

“These aren’t your training grounds anymore, you can’t just come in and out as you please.” Pep chastises, but he’s too pleased to feign any type of annoyance. He hadn’t been Luis Enrique’s captain for a long time and, therefore, couldn’t make the words have any effect either.

 

“This isn’t Italy? I hadn’t noticed.”

 

Pep glances at Xavi, thankfully, but he’s too busy staring at Luis. “Either stop making me look bad in front of my players or make your way out.”

 

“Is practice almost over?”

 

Pep’s experienced at handling Lucho’s non sequiturs and takes it in stride, glancing down at his watch. “Yeah, there’s, like, ten more minutes.” The team was running cool-down laps while Xavi had come over to get some water.

 

“Good,” Lucho nods, though he doesn’t look very pleased. Luis rubs his palms against his thighs, actually looking ill at ease at being in the Ciutat for once and Pep immediately regrets his previous statements. Then, Pep realizes that Lucho’s actually worried, causing alarms to go off in his head. “Iván’s thing’s today.”

 

It takes a few moments for Lucho’s vague statement to register before Pep considers hitting himself in the head with his clipboard. “Today?” He echoes, uneasily looking back down at his watch. It wasn’t very helpful in calming his sense of dread, especially since he forgot at what time Iván finally decided the schedule the event.

 

“In thirty minutes,” Lucho adds, sarcastically cheerful.

 

Pep blanches. “God, _what the_ \- Luis, I can’t go,” he says in a rush.

 

“What do you mean you can’t go?” Lucho asks, furrowing his brow, obviously distressed. “You have to go.”

 

“I can’t go!” Pep almost throws his clipboard in the air, frazzled, but manages to regain a semblance of his composure when he realizes that Xavi is still paying attention to their discussion – even though his water break was long over. “Luis- Lucho, I can’t.” Pep repeats. “I-I-” He stammers, having been thrown into a loop. His mind’s racing. There’s a million reasons why he can’t go, not to mention the fact that thirty minutes is an impossible amount of time to make it to Iván’s house. “I won’t have time to clean up and shower. Luis, I smell.”

 

“You don’t _smell._ ”

Lucho actually sounds insulted for him and Pep allows himself a moment to calm down with an amused sigh before continuing. “I’ve been out here with the team all day.”

 

“You don’t-”

 

It’s gone past a mere excuse at this point, it’s a fact. It was a hot day, on top of everything. Pep nods enthusiastically and pointedly tugs on his jersey to make a point. “I do.”

 

At this, Luis takes an aborted step forward before leaning back and bouncing on his heels. “You don-”

 

Pep glares at Lucho and steps towards him with a scowl. “Prove me wrong. Be my guest.”

 

They glare at each other for a few seconds, long enough that Pep’s accelerated heartbeat regains its normal pace before Luis Enrique leans forward and deliberately sniffs at Pep’s neck.

 

Pep arches a brow. “Well?” He hadn’t actually expected Lucho to do it, his heart racing a bit, again, though this time mostly out of surprise.

 

Lucho shrugs and shakes his head. “You’re fine. I have cologne in the car, if you’re still worried.”

 

“I don’t think you smell, Pep.”

 

Pep sighs, closing his eyes while he rubbed at his forehead. “Thank you, Xavi.”

 

 

**_3.00001_ **

 

 

“And then Pep was like ‘Prove me wrong, then.’ And Lucho went up to him and sniffed him. Right here, in the neck! It was so intimate. I think they forgot I was there.”

 

“Well, in their defense, Xavi: you are quite forgettable.”

 

“His. Neck.”

 

“ _Wait_ , what the fuck! I told Iván I couldn’t go to the thing because of practice. And now _Pep’s_ going? This is _so_ not fair.”

 

“ _His! Neck!”_

“Did you want him to smell his armpit instead, Xavi?”

 

 

**_3.00004_ **

****

 

“Did you guys come together?”

 

“Yes, Iván,”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“ _Hm_? What’s that ‘hm’ mean? What is that for?”

 

“Nothing and- Oh! Pep, nice cologne.”

 

 

**_4._**

 

 

“I think the best option is if you go with neither.”

 

Luis jumps and loses the grip on both of the boxes of rigatoni in his hand. He tried to catch them before they reached the floor, successful in catching one while the other box clattered noisily onto the tile. It sounded like the tragic death of a maraca player. He’s expecting supermarket employees to rush over soon to try to find out what had caused the ruckus, but he’s too busy glaring at Pep to rush off and hide in another aisle.

 

“Have I told you that you need a bell, Pep?”

 

“Frequently.” Pep grins, bending down to pick up the blue box that was on the floor. “What were you doing, anyways?”

 

Luis sighs before straightening his back, putting both beat up boxes into his basket, “Comparing nutrition facts.”  

 

“And,” Pep furrows his brow, glancing down at his basket, “you’re going with both?”

 

“No one’s gonna buy the dented boxes,” Luis shrugs, grabbing Pep’s wrist when he hears footsteps approach them. “Back home for Christmas?”

 

“You mean this isn’t Germany?” Pep asks, looking at the shelves around him in fake wonder. “Couldn’t help it,” he nods, flashing Luis a sheepish grin, bumping his shoulder “You always do it. But yeah, just for a bit.”

 

Luis hums, flashing Pep a bright grin before pursing his lips in thought. “Sauce...” He muses, scratching his chin.

 

Pep chuckles, shaking his head, “How about we look at some produce, instead?”

 

“Well, you better be cooking if you think I have time to make my own tomato sauce.”

 

Pep clicks his tongue, giving Luis an exasperated glare. “It’s not that hard to make.”

 

Luis shakes his head and starts walking towards the freezer section, knowing they’d need time to finish their argument. “It takes forever, though.”

 

“No, it doesn’t.”

 

“Listen,” Luis looks up from the chicken to meet Pep’s gaze. “All I’m hearing is that you’re cooking tonight and I’m just going to boil the pasta.”

 

“Or that you’re in charge of dessert,” Pep offers, much to Luis’ delight.

 

The feeling's short lived and his face falls, glaring at Pep before he shuffles over to the pork section. “If it’s a vegan dessert, you’re officially uninvited.”

 

“Are we making vegan pasta?” Pep counters, following Luis.

 

Luis feels his face heat up. “No,” he mumbles. “No, we’re not.”

 

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Pep picks out some Italian sausage, but immediately thrusts it into Luis’ hands with a roll of his eyes. “What is wrong with you?” Pep mumbles before starting to rearrange Luis’ basket.

 

“What are you- Ow, _ow_. That’s my arm.” Luis grumbles, staring at the back of Pep’s head while he was crouched over, intent on rearranging and making more space within the basket- or something.

 

“I don’t want it to touch the cardboard,” Pep mumbles, looking up at Luis before purposefully pressing down on the basket.

 

“That was unne-“

 

Pep studies his handiwork briefly before nodding. “There,” There’s a small smile on his face, obviously satisfied with his results. “You can put that away now.”

 

“I see no change,” Luis mumbles, though it’s mostly to be contrary. “Seriously, though,” he says louder, making Pep take a few steps back from where he  already started to walk towards the produce section of the store. “What happened? Brother kick you out?”

 

Pep sheepishly scratches at the back of his neck, “Something like that? He told me I needed to get laid.”

 

“And you stalked me to the supermarket? Amazing.”

 

Pep rolls his eyes, taking out a plastic bag from his blazer pocket, “I saw you on my way out.” Luis can just barely make out a metallic blue box and it looks like toothpaste— except—

 

“Wow, you took his advice to heart. That's impressive.”

 

The pink that colored Pep’s cheeks while he deliberately avoided Luis’ gaze is unmistakable, “It always helps to be prepared.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Luis teases, grinning mischievously. “What was that? It always helps to be what? Wait, do you have lube? Tell me you have lube. You are totally prepared, right?”

 

“ _Luis Enrique.”_  

 

“Um, excuse me.” A small voice calls out. This time it’s Pep juggling the object in his hand - he’s always been more graceful than Luis, or maybe the plastic bag helped - but they both turn to face the child without any major incident.

 

Well, children.

“We’re doing a scavenger hunt for Magali’s birthday. Can we take your picture?”

 

Luis is quicker to recover than Pep, who still looked pretty horrified, “Uh, sure,” he agrees. The children seemed innocuous enough. Pep nodded robotically in agreement.

 

“Okay, put your arms around each other and…Thank you!”

 

“No problem,” Pep chokes out. They didn’t seem to notice who they were, that was always a plus.

 

The kids start to run off and Luis’ embarrassment is just starting to wane before _“Okay! We got the picture of the married couple! What else do we need?”_

_**4.17** _

 

 

“Did that just happen?” Pep asks.

 

“Oh, no. What if that ends up on the internet?” Luis asks at the same time.

 

They both look at each other, then shrug. That wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to them.

 

“Um, excuse me, sonny.” Someone taps on Luis’ shoulder. It’s an older woman with a kind smile and a light blue dress with sunflowers on it, “Your boyfriend dropped this.” She handed him a small plastic bottle.

 

“Uh,” Luis swallows, staring down at the bottle before looking back up to the woman with a weak smile of his own. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” She pats his arm gingerly before doing the same to Pep, who, out of the corner of his eye, Luis could see had turned an interesting shade of fuchsia. “I was your age once too,” She giggles, then sighs. “Oh, young love.”

 

_**5.** _

Every question seemed to be about Pep. Luis could only imagine that he was getting the third degree in England, too.

 

“Pep’s my friend, I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

 

Well, maybe they asked him more about the club, but Luis barely kept up with the Spanish press. He wasn’t going to keep up with the English press, either.

 

_“When we first met as players, it was really easy to see that Luis was special. He’s direct, honest, and very hardworking…”_

**_???????_ **

 

 

“Maybe we should tell them.”

****

Luis groans, turning to face Pep. Pep’s biting his bottom lip, looking altogether much too worried for Luis’ liking.

 

“ _Josep_ ,” Luis reaches over and rubs the spot between Pep’s eyebrows with his thumb, trying to smooth out the wrinkles there. “No.” He’s talking mostly to the winkles at this point.

 

Pep understands. He laughs, scooting closer to Luis, pillowing his head on his arm. “No?” Pep teases with a grin.

 

“Well,” Luis shrugs, or half-shrugs as much as he could lying face down on the bed, moving his hand to brush Pep’s cheekbone with his thumb. “We can do whatever you'd like.”

 

Pep sighs, reaching up to grab Luis’ hand, giving it a small squeeze. “You’re not really helping.”

 

Luis grins, pulling Pep’s hand close to him. “I try,” he mumbles before kissing the silver band on Pep’s ring finger. 

****

****

****

_**5.**_   ** _(con’t)_**

Luis hears someone rushing down the steps in the tunnel and turns around only to be faced by one Pep Guardiola.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit (I literally thought I had this included in the note, ugh):
> 
> Louis Van Gaal and Luis Enrique really had [disagreements.](http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/sport/football/football-news/manchester-united-next-manager-louis-7055991)(But they really [respected](http://www.goal.com/en-gb/news/3277/la-liga/2015/07/25/13873012/van-gaal-luis-enrique-was-my-rooney-at-barcelona) each other)
> 
> I was going to make the 5th section a lot longer, but I was falling asleep T_T
> 
> Also, sorry, I thought I posted the sources for the quote and video of the tunnel during the game (First leg of Man City v Barça @ the Camp Nou)
> 
> [Quote](http://luchorgasm.tumblr.com/post/152060318832/when-we-first-met-as-players-it-was-really-easy)  
> [Video](http://luchorgasm.tumblr.com/post/152060916573/pep-and-lucho-in-the-tunnel-before-the-game)  
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always!  [(my tumblr - let's talk fic)](http://kaligaga.tumblr.com)


End file.
